“Yes, he did; but he kept right on, and a perfect stranger had to take me and my bicycle home. Two hours later he appeared with his arm in a sling, and explained. He said it was first time he had ridden outside of the riding school, and he had gotten a terrific pace which he couldn’t have stopped if a rich uncle had been in his way. He said that if something in his machine hadn’t broken, he verily believed he’d have circled the globe without stopping!”
“So you forgave him, didn’t you? You always were amiable,” said the girl with the eyeglasses.
“Ye—es. Especially as he offered to have my bicycle repaired; papa having declared the last time that he wouldn’t pay another cent for repairs, if it stood in the attic all summer!”
“That was good of you. Some girls would not have been so just,” said the president.
“Oh, don’t praise me too much,” said the girl with the dimple in her chin, modestly. “Nobody who knew me happened to be in sight when it occurred—else I might not have let him off so easily.”
“Dear me, how modest you are,” said the blue-eyed girl. “I never knew a human being with so little vanity in my life.”
“Nor I,” said the girl with the classic profile. “Did I tell you about Florence’s latest trouble? No? Well, you know that horrid Mr. Brownsmith, who rides beautifully, begged to be allowed to teach her. She accepted, and as soon as she had learned to ride well, she wondered how to get rid of him.”
“Why didn’t she ask her father to—”
“Forbid him to the house? That’s just what she did. I believe you have heard this story before.”
“Yes. And her father?” queried the girl with the Roman nose.